


i’ll keep going (just stay by my side)

by KittenAnarchy



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Canon Divergent in two different places :), Gen, Good Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt Needs a Hug, Magic-Induced Amnesia but it’ll make sense I swear, Mute Wilbur Soot (kinda), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sad Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot Angst, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, Wilbur Soot-centric, its an irl Minecraft au, listen Wilbur gets his throat slit two lines in that’s how you know it’s quality angst, more people will be added I swear but rn its just them, this spawned by me listening to Cube Land on repeat for about an hour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:20:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28056027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittenAnarchy/pseuds/KittenAnarchy
Summary: Through the haze of pain clouding his mind, he sees a pale face framed with curly dark hair, smiling down at him.“Sorry, but it’s just business, Mr. Soot.”Soot and Blades may have no memories, a bunch of trauma, and a seemingly impossible goal, but at least they have each other.
Relationships: Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot
Comments: 7
Kudos: 122





	i’ll keep going (just stay by my side)

He’s gasping, clawing desperately at the emptiness eating away at his skull. His throats burns, screams ripping their way through his throat, but he can’t remember _why_ he’s screaming—

“God, would you just shut up already?” A voice says, and then there’s a weight on top of him, and it’s so hard to see, but he can barely make out loose brown curls and the sharp glint of a... a knife? 

There’s a searing, burning pain around his neck, something wet and warm running down his chest. It _hurts_ , and all he can do is desperately try to stem the blood seeping through his fingers. Through the haze of pain clouding his mind, he sees a pale face framed with curly dark hair, smiling down at him. 

“Sorry, but it’s just business, Mr. Soot.”

Suddenly, he’s weightless, wind whipping at his face. The sound of rushing water roars in his ears, and then—

—nothing. 

* * *

When he wakes up again, there’s a fish in his face. 

He flinches away, crawling backwards onto the gravel shore, and regrets it almost immediately. Not only does his head spin from how fast he had sat up, but his hand throbs with pain as something sharp jabs into it among the tiny rocks. Wincing, he brings it up to inspect the damage. It’s hard to see (it’s too dark, and for some instinctive reason, that’s _terrifying_ ) but he can barely make out little bits and pieces embedded into his palm, glinting in the darkness. 

Glass? Metal? He’s not sure. There’s nothing he can do about right now, though, so he just leaves it, instead glancing around. The fish splashes around a bit, and he opens his mouth to address it but—

Nothing comes out. Not even a wheeze. 

His fingers instinctively come up to graze his throat, and there’s something dry and crusted over, getting under his nails, but there’s no wound, even though there should be a wound, he remembers the knife and the face and the pain and _why isn’t there a wound_ —

A bit of water hits his face. He blinks at the fish, who spins around in the water before traveling ahead. It stops once it notices he’s not following, doubling back and splashing him with some more water.

Does... does it want him to follow it? 

In the thicket, he hears a low groan, followed by a series of hisses. 

...well, it’s not like he wants to stay here anyway.

* * *

The fish leads him to what seems to be a worn section of a large cobblestone wall. There’s no end in sight, the cobblestone disappearing into the dark void around them. There’s a large round tunnel blocked off by a grate - a sewer system, perhaps? - that the fish ducks under. From beyond the crisscrossing metal, it jumps up, gesturing him in.

...How the hell is he supposed to get in there? 

He gestures to himself and then to the wall, pointing wildly at his hand. The fish simply splashes again. It feels kind of stupid, trying to communicate that _hey, I can’t fit through the bars_ to a fish. Scratch that, actually, he feels stupid trying to communicate with a fish in general. He considers climbing, but his hand still hurts, warm wet blood running down it. Besides, he doesn’t want to push whatever’s stuck in his palm in further. 

Maybe he could try slamming his shoulder against a weaker part of the wall? He’s not sure how well it’ll work, all things considered, but—

There’s a soft hissing sound from behind him, and he spins around just in time to see something flash a bright white and _explode_ , and then there’s pain and there’s salt stinging his nose and ears and eyes and mouth and _help please I don’t want to die_ —

He greedily gasps for air as soon as his head breaks the surface, tugging himself out of the sewer water and onto the concrete floor. His right wrist burns, his vision swims, and it’s taking all of his self-control not to throw up right then and there.

Well. 

Now he doesn’t have to worry about the grate. 

Sighing, he hauls himself up, shivering slightly as he leans against the tunnel walls for support. He doesn’t want to move right away, not with the way his ears ring or the way his... well, _everything_ aches, but the fish is still moving, and he’d really rather not get blown up more than once, thank you. 

The two of them make their way through the tunnel, and he’s eternally grateful to whoever put up lanterns, as dim and flickering as they are. It’s a welcome change to the darkness outside, and the monsters that hide within it. 

It’s oddly nice to be walking side by side with the fish — there’s something familiar about it that he can’t quite place. But still, the silence is comfortable, there’s no explosions, and he might actually be able to get some medical attention and food from whoever lives here. And some new clothes too— now that he can actually see, the once-bright white shirt he’s wearing is dirtied and absolutely soaked in blood. 

What even happened to him, anyway? 

His teeth dig into the edge of his bottom lip as he struggles to remember. He was attacked, he knows that much. A murder attempt? You don’t exactly slit people’s throats and chuck them into rivers if you want them to live. It doesn’t help that the memories are dimly lit and fuzzy, like a dream that you can’t quite place... but he can’t ever forget that face. 

The face of his would-be murderer. A man in his early twenties, perhaps, pale-skinned with dark, curly hair shoved under a beanie. Fairly easy on the eyes, now that he’s thinking back. Not exactly someone who would attempt murder, but seeing as he quite vividly remembers the man slitting his throat, he supposed he can’t say anything. 

Mr. Soot, the man had called him. Was that his name?

Soot. He rolls it around on his tongue. It doesn’t evoke any sort of feeling, no sudden pang of deja-vu. He has nothing against the name either or anything, but it just feels... lacking. Well, it’s not like he’s got anything else to go on. Besides, there’s more pressing matters, like whatever the man said about—

The fish jumps, dragging him out of his thoughts. Soot stops as he finally reaches the end of the tunnel. There’s a heavy metal door with a single button next to it. There’s also no further way for the fish to proceed. Black beady eyes stare up at him. 

...He can’t just leave the poor thing there. Not with all the monsters. 

Sighing, Soot begins to roll up his sleeves, minding his injured hand. He plans on using a dented metal bucket tucked away in a corner, but then something catches his eye. Tattooed on the inner side of his right wrist, stark against his pale skin, there’s a little red heart with two darker shapes inside. It almost seems to pulsate in the dim lighting but that’s— that’s not possible. 

He’s probably just tired. 

Grabbing the bucket, he scoops the fish up, ignoring the warm pang in his heart at the sight of the codfish swimming happy circles in the bucket. 

Together, they walk through the metal door, and hopefully, to some help. 

* * *

There’s no help. 

He knows this the minute he steps in and sees the crumbling walls and the flickering of the cracked lamps, the sounds of bones clicking and low groans echoing in the darkness. 

Soot keeps walking anyway, because what else is he supposed to do?

( _You could lay down and die_ , a voice whispers to him. _It would be so easy._

...he can’t say the thought isn’t appealing.)

He weaves his way through the maze of cobblestone corridors, trying to be as quiet as possible. The fact that he can hear something decidedly unfriendly moan with every step he takes is a good motivator. The fish is fairly quiet too, though it anxiously spins in circles inside the bucket. 

Soot pauses as he pushes through another wooden door, making his way to what he thinks is the entrance of the... castle, probably? (There’s a large main staircase leading to what he thinks is a fairly intact upstairs, though it’s cobweb ridden and decrepit. He’s not sure if it’ll even hold his weight.) He’s not entirely sure, and the shattered lights overhead, occasionally sprinkling golden powder into his hair, don’t exactly illuminate the place well. 

He squints slightly. It’s hard to tell, but there's a trail of dark brown droplets that lead to a painting tucked away under the stairs. As he makes his way over, he notices a dull and rusted steel sword, half sheathed, lying underneath it. 

Did something die here? Or maybe...

Cautiously, he touches the painting, watching the canvas push away from three-quarters of the frame like a curtain, revealing a hidden entrance. Very carefully, he grabs the sword and steps over the splintered edge of the frame, entering the tunnel. There’s a wooden door at the end, torch light from inside the room illuminating the tunnel a bit, and though it’s closed, Soot can see the dried blood on the handle.

He opens his mouth to say something, _anything_ , but only a wheeze comes out. 

Whatever— it’s fine. He has a sword. He has a friend. He’ll be fine. With a deep breath, Soot pushes the door open and steps inside. 

_Crunch_

A scream tears it way out of his throat, and he stumbles back out the doorway. His throat burns, and his fingers tighten around the sword as he looks at what he had stepped on. 

It’s a skeleton. It might have been a person once, but now it’s nothing more than a pile of clothed bones. There’s nothing much to it, but the rectangular black device tucked into the skeleton’s waistband catches his attention. 

Soot picks up the dusty old thing, grimacing at the dried blood flecking off it. Barring that though, it looks fairly unharmed. There’s some text on the screen. 

_Steve starved to death._

He glances at the skeleton on the floor. That’s… not the nicest way to go. 

_UserID:Steve has been terminated._

_Input new UserID._

A little bit hesitantly, he enters his name. 

_Initializing…_

_Welcome, Soot! You are now entering this world’s public chat room…_

_Soot joined the world._

A chatroom? Does that mean there are other people here? Or are they like… Soot spares a pitying glance to the decaying mess that was once Steve. He can at least _try_ to contact someone. 

_Soot:_ hello? Is anyone there?

For a few heart-stopping seconds, there’s no response… and then his communicator buzzes.

_Blades_ : who the fuck is this

For the first time since Soot’s been dropped into this hellscape, he smiles. 

**Author's Note:**

>  **chapter one’s alt title:** the worst pronoun game in history for nearly 1k words 
> 
> This is an IRL Minecraft AU! It’s not huge world building or anything, but I feel like I should clarify that everyone has a communicator in their inventory when they’re first born/spawned in. They can’t be destroyed (they’ll reappear in the designated UserID’s inventory) but depending on the world, they can be repurposed or stolen! :D I think you can guess what happened to Soot’s original communicator.
> 
> Please note that this isn’t a chat or shipping fic.


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